


They aren't heavy, They're my brothers

by heffermonkey



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 12:58:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heffermonkey/pseuds/heffermonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The gang are on a journey home, but how will they pay for the fare to England and is there anything that can bond them as brothers?</p>
            </blockquote>





	They aren't heavy, They're my brothers

Each days walk seemed like a heavier burden. Before him the road stretched out like a slithering snake, he could imagine it winding, over desert, over foreign land, dipping under crests of waves, through English countryside, leading him straight to Nottingham. A long way to travel to take revenge, it would be a tiring journey, as tiring as the last time he travelled it, but his step was ever steady. Behind him, if he dared look back, the road was of bitterness, grief, loss, a wending path to a grave which he'd never visit again. Part of him felt guilty for leaving her there, in a strange land she had no reason to be in, far from the home she loved. Marian should have been buried in the churchyard of Nottingham, alongside her mother and father after she'd lived a long, full, happy life at his side, loved by him, loved by the people.

But it wasn't to be, and no matter how many 'should have been's' went through his mind, he set his heart on revenge and resigned Marian to his private memories. 

The lads for the most part didn't speak much of what had gone on in their time in the Holy Land. Allan and John had been given a lesson in the brutal reality of life in suffocating heat and fighting under a dazzling sun which caused each sweep of blade to feel like a heavy, drawn out thrust of consuming weight. Much, like the last time, was unusually quiet on the road, storing away any memories with a grim face. The last time they'd journeyed home, Much had been quiet, quite unlike himself, until they'd stepped off the boat onto English soil. Then the words had poured from his mouth like a well of water springing forth, about returning to Locksley, of being home, anything and everything but nothing of the war. Nothing of the horrors they'd seen.

At last they neared the coast, it had been an arduous journey and they'd have to rest and find safe passage to get home. They had little coin, perhaps not even enough for the journey home unless they could barter a cheap passage and their food was running low. Stealing was an option but they'd prefer not to get into any unnecessary trouble right before they left, the sooner they set sail for England the better.

“Let's split up; Allan, John, see if you can barter a safe passage for us.” Robin said as they came to the small town set by the sea.

“With what?” Allan said frowning. He doubted the few coins they had between them would get even one of them a berth on one of the ships setting sail. He also wondered how he and John were supposed to communicate with any of the captains, though John was a formidable presence and Allan could certainly talk his way in and out of situations, even if he didn't know the language.

“Just see who will give us passage, try and get them to agree to a good price, tell them they will get paid.” Robin said firmly with a look that made Allan roll his eyes, turn on his heel and head for the docks without argument. John gave Much and Robin a look before following silently. 

Much watched them walking before turning to Robin who was about to head in the other direction. “And just how are we going to pay for passage to England?” he asked after him.

“I'm sure we'll think of something,” Robin said in reply, heading for the market.

Much followed for a while, herding away sellers who surrounded them with trinkets, clucking chickens, fresh food, anything to entice them into parting with any coins they did have. Much shooed them away, trying to keep up with Robin who kept disappearing, engulfed by the crowd. Robin seemed intent on finding something in particular and Much finally caught up with him when they'd passed through the main mass of the market and reached a less denser area, where the streets led off into small passageways and shadowy corridors. They walked around more freely, sellers at their stalls merely watched them warily, wondering if it was worth the effort to bother them, selling things of only particular interest to a person in the know of their wares. Eventually Robin paused and looked across the way with a decided look in his eyes. Much followed his eye line and it took a few moments before he realised where Robin was looking.

“Robin, what are you thinking?” Much exclaimed following Robin as he walked directly up to the man standing by a stall connected to one of the walls of the town. The inside of his 'shop' was seeped in shadow as the sun shone away from them, but he had a few swords on show, enough to entice a buyer to pause and appreciate each blade. A small man sat on a stool nearby, old wizened, keeping an extra eye on the wares.

“We need money and of everything we carry with us, we only have a few things of value.” Robin replied before taking out his sword carefully from the pack he'd safely stored it away in. 

The sellers eyes seemed to dance in delight as Robin unwrapped the sword carefully from the swathes of material, before pulling the hilt gently, the blade gleamed even in the bleak light and the sellers mouth twisted into a smile. Much could see the greed in his eyes as Robin held the blade out to him, enough to make the vendor practically rub his hands with glee.

“Robin, you can't sell your sword, it was your fathers,” Much implored, shocked that Robin could even contemplate selling his most precious of possessions. 

Robin did feel a wrench at the thought, especially being reminded of it being his fathers. But what did that actually matter, he barely remembered his father, all he knew was it had belonged to the man. The sword had served him well and it would serve them all now, as a passage back home, to England, where he'd seek his revenge against his sworn enemy. He wouldn't give Gisbourne the satisfaction of dying by such a blade, no, a simple blade, like the one Gisbourne had thrust so violently into Marian would serve as a good enough weapon when the time came to kill the man. Still he swallowed down on his dry throat as the vendor took the sword from him and gave it close inspection.

“Robin,” Much said again, placing a hand on his arm.

“We need money to get home Much, unless you wish to swim.” Robin replied a little coldly, “We have no other choice.”

“There's always a choice,” Much muttered under his breath, something Robin had repeatedly told all of them over the months, years even, that the gang had been together. 

Robin looked at him in appreciation but shrugged, it was either this or they stowed away on a ship and hoped they wouldn't be caught and thrown overboard for the crime. Much gripped the hilt of his own weapon but didn't bother drawing it, though his sword had served him well it was no beauty like the Saracen sword Robin had handed over. But he also carried something of near equal value, and it was sure to catch the vendors eye. As Robin looked at the stall owner and asked him what price he'd pay for the sword Much dropped his pack on the ground and unhooked his shield. 

The vendor gave Robin a price but his eyes glinted when he caught sight of the shield Much held out to him. His eyes roved over it, like he was spinning a story to tell anyone who became interested in such a shield, it held scars from battles, but they only added to it's value. An item with a story to tell always sold better, the sword would also sell well, such a beauty.

“Much, you aren't selling your shield,” Robin said with a shake of his head. He held his hand out to halt the vendor from putting his hands on it. “I won't let you.”

“Sell the shield and you can keep the sword.” Much said matter of factly. He'd seen the look on the vendors face, he'd pay enough coin to own it.

“It was a gift,” Robin exclaimed, slightly put out Much would give it up so easily even if it was done out of care for him.

“So was the sword,” Much retorted. 

The vendor looked at them both and said something Much couldn't understand, though Robin shook his head and motioned to the sword again before replying.

“Tell him to take the shield,” Much implored Robin.

Robin finished talking to the man before turning to him and placing a hand on his shoulder. “I won't let you sell it Much, it means too much to you.”

Much went to argue but Robin continued. “If you make me make him take it, I'll only come back later with the sword and barter it for the shield in return.”

Much shut his mouth and gave up, knowing Robin would do exactly as he said if they did sell the shield instead. The vendor looked disappointed as Much conceded and pulled the shield back onto his back along with the bag he carried. The man gave a shrug and motioned to Robin to follow him, they'd discuss a price within his shop away from the prying eyes of those who hid in shadows looking for coin to steal. Much lingered outside waiting, looking over the swords on display, each one crafted with equal beauty, he even tested a few in his hand, the swordsman in him appreciating each one in turn, imagining how it would feel to use it in a fight. The old man nearby watched him with an eagle eye in case he tried to steal anything.

Eventually Robin re-appeared, a small smile on his face. The vendor gave them a bow, a look of satisfaction on his face as they walked away, happy with his purchase.

“How much did you get?” Much asked as they made their way back through the market. 

“Enough to get us passage across to England,” Robin replied before pausing by some stalls. “As well as rooms for tonight if needs be, depending on when the next ship sails.”

He turned to Much and looked him up and down before turning back to a stall. “When was the last time you had a new pair of britches?”

~

John and Allan lingered on the dockside, eyeing the nearby crowd of the market wondering when Robin and Much would return. Eventually the two men emerged from the mass of bodies, carrying a few extra packs.

“What's all this then?” Allan said, sharp eyes glancing over the extra things they carried, wondering if Robin had decided to go on a pilfering spree around the market.

“Did you find anyone who'd take us?” Robin asked ignoring the question.

“Yeah, captain over there sets sail at first light when the tide is up,” Allan replied jerking his head towards a small ship moored at the end of the dock. “Of course I couldn't tell him exactly how much we'd be able to pay him but he'll give us a good price.”

“Oh?” Much asked wondering how Allan came to such a theory.

“Cos he's English,” Allan replied with a small grin. “Says he'd be happy to take us, seems he's a supporter of the King, and well you know, you spin a yarn or two at him about fighting alongside the King and he was putty in my hands.”

Robin looked impressed and gave a nod of his head, “Nice work Allan. We'll go and arrange a price and find a place to rest.”

Allan had been right, the captain, though a formidable presence to his crew, seemed enamoured by anything to do with Richard's cause. When Allan hinted at the fact Robin had been part of the King's personal guards and held the Kings favour the man slapped Robin on the back and reeled off several questions.

“Give us a good price for the journey and I'll answer all your questions my friend,” Robin replied forcing a smile on his lips. The latest battles left him nothing but bitter memories he had no wish to tell when they were so fresh in his memory but the Captain seemed eager to take them.

The Captain gave them a cheap and fair deal and with a handshake their passage was secured. “Full payment when we step aboard,” Robin enticed the Captain, dropping only a few coins into the man's hand. 

“Done,” replied the Captain with another slap on his back. “The tide rises early, be here at first light.”

“We've had a long journey to get here, where can my men and I find a place to rest and get a decent meal?” Robin asked.

The Captain pointed to some shacks nearby the docks, slightly set apart from the rest of the town. “Most of my boys head in there, they serve decent food, if you don't ask what kind of meat it is they are serving that is,” the Captain laughed at his own joke before continuing. “Good drink, women,” the Captain gave a leering smile at that and waved them on their way.

They returned to where Much and John had waited with their few belongings and gave them a quick explanation of the conversation with the Captain.

“So food?” Allan asked eagerly, his stomach had ached for days for a decent meal though none of them complained. By now they were all used to the ache of an empty belly.

Robin gave a shake of his head and picked up his belongings. “We wash first, before I leave this place I'm giving back every bit of sand that has worked it's way into every crevice.”

John gave a grimace at that and stood uncomfortably. If he never saw sand again he'd be happy, the stuff ingrained into his hair, his beard, under his fingernails, poured into his boots, scratched at his skin. He'd borne enough of the stuff to last the rest of his lifetime. The others obviously felt the same as they picked up their things and followed Robin heading down to a cove at the waters edge. A few people were there washing clothes, filling or emptying pots and they found a more secluded spot where they could wash down. The water was cold but refreshing and they all felt satisfied after their quick bathe. Allan rubbed at his skin with his rolled up shirt to dry off though the heat helped for the most part. He unfurled the shirt and was about to pull it back on when Robin threw a rolled up bundle over to him.

“What this?” Allan said unrolling the new clothing with a grin.

“Looks like new clothing to me, but I could be wrong,” Robin shrugged with a wink.

“Yeah but where'd you get it from?” Allan said pulling on the new shirt and smoothing it down as Robin tossed John a bundle as well.

“Has the sun affected your sight Allan? You do realise we just came through a market don't you?” Much asked getting in on the joke.

Allan threw his old soggy shirt at Much in retaliation. “Yeah but, with what? Where'd you get the money to buy this and passage back to England?”

Robin didn't reply and gave a shake of his head at Much to keep quiet about it. But Much, pulling on his own new piece of clothing ignored Robin's imploring eyes.

“He sold his sword,” Much replied giving Robin a glare. He wasn't happy about it but there was little he could do about it, Robin gave him a shove but started getting dressed ignoring John and Allan who were staring at him incredulously.

“Sold your sword.” John repeated with a shake of his head, “Robin,-”

“What's done is done,” Robin replied before either of them could argue about it. “He gave me a good price for it, enough for passage home, a decent meal and drinks tonight. And I had enough to buy us new clothing. I even have some left.”

All three men stared at him, the sword must have fetched a high price if the money could stretch that far. But it felt unfair, why should Robin have to give up such a treasured possession, they could have sold something of less value to pay for their fare home and waited until on board the ship before they ate.

“Can't we get it back?” Allan asked, looking from Robin to Much knowing Much would be on his side if they went up against Robin's decision.

“We're not getting it back,” Robin said forcefully. “It's a gift Allan, accept it. Hurry up and get dressed, I'm hungry and we're going to have a good drink tonight before we set sail in the morning.”

“Robin,” John started to protest.

“Enough,” Robin raised his voice that little bit louder, an order, not a request. As far as he was concerned the matter was over with, there would be no more spoken about it.

Silent and meekly they dressed in their new garb, stored away their old clothing and placed their bags on their backs before making their way to the shacks for something to eat and drink.

~

Night had set in and their bellies were full, first with food and swilled down with a heavy drink which reminded them of sweet mead. Licking his lips Allan held his mug up shakily for a top up from a young woman who kept giving him a come hither smile. Allan wondered if he should take heed to her expression, that was if he could actually walk. He looked around at the other men, John was hunched over his mug with a strange smile on his lips, before lapping like a dog at the liquid in his cup. John looked up and grinned, droplets of the drink dripping from his beer.

“Maybe we should have waited before we dressed in new gear,” Allan said with a frown as the drops of liquid fell from John's beard and down his front.

Robin merely gave a wide smile and raised his cup in silent toast to John who lifted his own gave a bark of laughter and downed his drink with a satisfied gulp. Robin set his mug down and looked serious, staring into the dark liquid like it could give him some answers. The whole mood of the men changed in a moment, like they all caught onto the Robin's suddenly sombre behaviour, deep in thought, trying to ignore memories and images that swam through his head more easily with the inebriation of drink.

Much pondered and dipped a finger into his mug, swilling it around, wondering if he could sneak off with his shield before the morning and get Robin's sword back. But he doubted Robin would forgive him, for some reason Robin seemed determined to have the sword gone and none of them had brought the matter up again. Still, the sword was important and he considered the shield for the sword a fair swap. Robin meant more to him than a shield the man had given to him as a gift. Before he could think further someone arrived at their table, not the serving girl who seemed to have disappeared much to Allan's disappointment. Robin looked up from his musings to a man wrapped in swathes of cloth, a native, his eyes dark and glinting in the torch light.

“Can I help you friend?” Robin asked, not in the native tongue. The man didn't seem to understand, just stood there before giving a grin and motioning with his finger.

“You wish to take something with you to remind you of your time here?” The man asked, in the native language this time. Robin had to concentrate to decipher the words in his head, the drink didn't make communicating easy.

“I wish to take nothing back with me of this forsaken place,” Robin replied gruffly. He had enough memories to last him his lifetime without a peddler trying to sell him some trinket.

“You are soldiers no? These are your men, you are bound together yes?” The man had sank into a chair by Robin, hand motioning to John, Much and Allan, his smile luring them in.

“What's he on about?” Allan asked looking closely at the man. 

“Just trying to sell us something,” Robin replied before looking at the man. “We aren't interested.”

The man made a show of rolling up his sleeve, first one then the other, revealing marks on his skin, designs of intricate nature like a painting and his skin a canvas. The marks looked familiar and Much looked closer before recalling a man they'd met not long ago. “Harold,” he mumbled under his breath.

“You are interested?” The man asked, looking at the intent looks from the men.

Robin shook his head. “No.”

The faces of the other three said differently, even if they didn't wish for a tattoo they were interested at the sight of them.

“Come my friend, you and your men, you each get one. A sign of brotherhood.” The man reminded Robin of the snake charmers they saw in the streets, captivating his audience, pulling them in, working his magic on them. “Something to unite you all.”

Robin found he had to drag his eyes away from the man and he looked at the others who were all staring at him, like under a spell.

“He wants to know if we want tattoos,” Robin told them.

“Yeah?” Allan said glancing down at the man's arms again. He lifted his cup to his lips and drank down the last lingering dregs. “I'm up for it if you all are.”

The man smiled, like he understood Allan was interested. Robin slapped his hand on the table with a nod, why not, they had money left and the tattoos had a charm to them, perhaps this would strengthen their unity as a gang. “All right then.” he said with a nod, “Much, John?”

John didn't look too keen, Much just sighed, drank the last of his drink too and nodded with a sigh, knowing if he resisted Allan and Robin would just talk him round to it eventually and he didn't have the strength to go through the charade.

The man stood, sleeves falling down over his painted skin and the four stood to follow him.

~

They were led through the empty market to one of the passageways that led through the buildings of the town. They moved slowly, they'd had a lot to drink and Robin felt suddenly apprehensive, were they walking into a trap? Still they followed and the man brought them to a small door which he opened and motioned them inside. The room was small, with another leading off it and a staircase leading upstairs. Rugs lay on the floor with large cushions to rest on. Tables with lamps sat by the walls, pots and instruments lain out upon them. Torches were lit around the room giving off flickering bright glows and plenty of heat. Robin wondered how many men, in the stark light of day ventured into this place compared to being led in by the dark of night. The man disappeared into the next room and the four looked at each other wondering what they'd let themselves into before he reappeared, other men following.

The men all bowed in greeting which the gang tried to return back with without much success, Allan had to grab onto Much's arm to save from falling flat on his face and John merely stayed hunched over, leaning on his staff for balance. Robin steadied himself by slouching against the wall, dark eyes surveying the men as he folded his arms.

“My artists,” the man motioned to the men who'd entered the room. “Please, sit.”

The gang all looked to Robin and he jerked his towards the tables. Allan stood straight, grinned and rubbed his hands together. “Right then,” he said approaching one of the men who gestured for him to take a seat.

John slumped heavily onto a chair and glared at the man opposite him, wary, on his guard. Much ran a hand over his head, gave a last look at Robin before crossing the room to a free table. The man opposite him gave him a smile and he noticed the gleam of gold in the corner of the man's smile. 

“See anything you like?” The man who'd brought them to this place sat with Robin at a table and slid his cloak off, showing off his tattoos once more. The other men had done the same, each man's skin painted with strange, enticing, foreign designs. A perfect way to sell their wares. The intricate details seemed to dance in the torch light, or perhaps it was the drink playing with Robin's eyes. He squeezed them shut and opened them again to steady his vision but the tattoos still danced. 

Looking about he noticed Allan had already stripped off his shirt, grinning like an idiot and pointing at different swirls on the man's skin trying to make a decision. The drink obviously spurring him on. Looking over at John he noticed the big man hadn't moved, just glared steadily at the man nearby who looked overwhelmed by John's presence. Robin managed to catch John's eye and gave him a look of persuasion with a shrug of his shoulders and nod of his head, trying to convey the sentiment of 'Be nice!'. With a grunt John sat back and kicked off his boot, stripped off the rag he used as a sock and lifted up his trunk of a leg to the table. The man motioned to his body and lifted his brows wondering what John cared for but John fumbled at his neck a moment before removing the tag which hung around his neck. Pointing to the simple design Will had created he pointed at his leg. The man gave a nod and set about his business with a watchful John following his every move.

Much looked even less persuaded even as the tattooist started preparation with John and Allan. He purposefully looked away when Robin looked over at him, refusing to be humoured.

“Much,” Robin implored like a child with a small smile. 

He could see Much visibly sigh in resignation before he too pulled off his shirt, still ignoring Robin but silently agreeing. Satisfied Robin turned back to decide on his own, his eyes roved over the man's skin, seeing if something would catch his eye. 

“Son of a motherless goat,” Allan exclaimed. His comrades all turned to look at him as he tried not to move as the man started on his back, having already etched his design onto Allan's back with ink.

John grunted but grinned at Allan's reaction and Much looked even less impressed.

“Who's idea was this?” Allan moaned giving a shake of his head. He needed more drink, they should have brought some with them.

“Robin's,” Much and John said in agreement.

“Oi, Allan said he was up for it first,” Robin replied with a frown, “Nobody forced you to come along.”

“You choose?” his artist asked becoming impatient. 

Robin pulled his shirt off, still trying to decide. 

Much started up an argument with his artist over a design. “No I don't want that, I want this,” Much slurred, having etched down a sketch of what he wanted on his shoulder. The artist evidently was trying to persuade Much to have something more elaborate. 

“Battle scar hmm?” Robin looked down at his arm where the man was pointing at with interest. A small scar from where he'd been speared by the arrow a few years back. He remembered the stitches Marian had put there to help it heal, her gentle touch though she'd been teasing him at the same time. He chose not to go into the story and instead gave a sharp nod of his head, looking down at the scar before looking at the man with a decided face. 

He knew the tattoo he wanted.

~

“We're so gonna regret this in the morning aren't we?” Allan said with a wince. His shoulder and back burned from the tattoo as they made there way in the dark back to the shack they'd been drinking in before. Evidently the place stayed open all night as dim light still shone from the windows and the sound of merry voices carried over to them. He needed more drink to deal with the pain he was feeling, it felt like he'd just been branded and he chuckled at himself. He had been branded, a permanent mark which he'd been happy to have put on him at the time.

“What you get anyway?” Much asked him.

“Dunno, some swirling design he had on his arm, figured it looked good.” Allan replied with a shrug before groaning in pain. No more shrugging for a while. “What about you?”

“This,” Much replied holding up a piece of parchment he'd jotted the design onto. It was a Saracen sword surrounded by a shield, a very simple depiction. Robin gave a smile and would have given him a pat on the shoulder but he thought it best not to as Much also gave a wince on pain.

Only John seemed to not be bothered by the pain as he marched on his way. The tattoos had been carefully covered by the men, bandages dipped in an ointment which they'd been given bottles of to stave of any infection. The tattoos had dwindled their small fortune right down but somehow they were all satisfied for getting them. Robin tried to ignore the dull ache in his arm, it felt like his arm had when he'd first started to practice the bow. Still they'd use the last of their money for drink to drown away their pains before they set sail for England.

~

Robin woke with a start, someone was shaking him roughly and a angry pain caused his arm to throb, as well as his head. He winced and sat up wondering what had woken him and found a sailor standing over him.

“Captain said to fetch you, we set sail soon,” the young boy said to Robin before looking at the other men sleeping about him. 

Robin looked about, head feeling heavy, sore, he'd drank far more than he had intended. He couldn't remember when they'd left the inn and bedded down by the dockside for sleep. He gingerly touched his arm, it ached terribly and he cast his mind back to the previous evening. The tattoos, with a wince he gave it another rub before giving Much a soft nudge with his boot and waking the other lads up.

It was time to return home.

~fin~


End file.
